Mixed Up
by Your Iron Lung
Summary: One fateful Saturday, Sanji finds himself getting mixed up with the annoying, irritable, and generally hated punk that lives 3 floors above him. He then finds himself rapidly being submerged into a violent subculture he'd had no interest in before, and can't seem to find his way back out of. 'You need a hobby', his old man had told him. Did this count? A punk (eventual ZoSan) AU.
1. Saturday Morning Coming Down

Swearing under his breath, Sanji swore that this sort of thing was just his luck. Saturdays always were a particularly hard day for him.

He didn't mind being scheduled to work on weekends because the full-time pay was nice, but for whatever reason, he always, always, _always_ had a hard time getting them started; be it via unintentionally oversleeping, or plain old forgetting to set his alarm, it seemed- to Sanji, at least- that Saturdays were out to ruin him.

He had never in his history of working at the Baratie been able to make it into work on a Saturday on time. There was always some delay that set him back, and when this pattern had been noticed by the scheduling staff, they'd tried to accommodate for his lateness by scheduling his shifts at slightly altered times in hopes that it'd allow him to come in on time, but even then, he was inevitably late.

Nobody could figure out why.

So it came as no surprise to him, then, that as per his weekly routine, this Saturday decided to thwart him by giving him car troubles.

Twenty minutes before his shift started, Sanji was sat struggling to start his car.

The engine gagged and rolled over with every attempt to get it to start, and in the afternoon's cold sun, Sanji cursed whatever deity it was that ruled over Saturdays. He considered begging for its forgiveness as he hopped out of the drivers seat and walked around to pop the hood, but decided to curse the lord instead as he stared forlornly down at the dead battery.

Sighing, he let the hood slam shut; no amount of poking and prodding could revive the dead. Sanji growled and turned the collar of his coat up against the chill winter wind as he dropped himself to sit on the hood of his car, wondering about what he ought to do. Twisting his face into an irritable expression, he considered his options.

Option one had him running after the city bus to try and catch a ride, though he didn't know its schedule, nor its fare, and honestly didn't want to be seen running like a fool for the public transport. Option two was to call up a friend and have them come round to give his car a jump, but the only people he knew with a car were either already at work or lived too far away for them to be of any timely use.

He shivered as the wind blew by and scowled. Rubbing his hands together for warmth, he watched his breath solidify in the air, encouraging his need for a cigarette.

He dug one of his chilled hands into the pocket of his overcoat and withdrew his pack. Tapping the pack to pop one out, he took it and began tamping it on the back of his hand before sticking it in his mouth. After he'd put it between his lips, he put his pack away again and cupped his hands around the cigarette to bring it to light.

Inhaling and shoving his hands into the pockets of his coat, he considered that option three was to just call in sick and take the day off. With this realization, Sanji sighed as he drew in another breath of smoke, and exhaled through his nose.

He really didn't want to have to call in sick; he genuinely enjoyed working at the Baratie, and he knew that, being the head-chef, the quality of the food served would slip if he didn't show up. And beyond that, he didn't trust his subordinates as far as he could throw them (which, admittedly, was pretty far) to run the kitchen properly.

If he called in sick today, the Baratie would be in shambles by tomorrow.

Grumbling angrily to himself about all the responsibilities he'd accumulated in his young age, he cast his gaze skywards and narrowed his eyes at where he thought the lord of Saturdays was seated on the grandest cloud, undoubtedly laughing at him.

'_O' great, merciful lord of the weekend,' _he thought, squinting and baring his teeth. '_Fuck you.'_

As he blew a smoke ring in the direction of heaven (and then inserted his middle finger through it), option four presented itself to him.

A great ruckus in the stairwell of his apartment building caught his attention as a heavy and repetitive thunking noise came down the stairs. Sanji knew what it was; everyone who lived in the complex knew what it was, and as it reached the end of the steps and stepped out onto the parking lot's sidewalk, Sanji saw his last option step onto the scene.

It just so happened that his last option was the much-hated terror of the apartment complex.

He was a green-haired punk with a bad attitude and an aura that demanded he be left alone. Absorbed in his own world of tight, acid-washed jeans and over-sized leather jackets, he was normally accompanied by his monster of a dog and was nearly impossible to approach on any given occasion.

Sanji watched him pause by the steps and crouch down to do up the loose laces of his one of his boots and noted the way the gig bag he was carrying slid up the length of his back. The tip of the tall guitar almost touched the pavement as Sanji found himself wondering if it'd be safe to approach him, as no one he knew seemed to have anything nice to say about the man. Normally, the guy was nigh unapproachable; any past attempts that anyone could recall of trying to socialize with him had been met with his dog viciously intervening.

The man's dog was truly a menace, and if his neighbours words were anything to go by, the man himself wasn't any better. His dog was was much larger than the allotted pet weight limit allowed for residents to keep, and no one could figure out why the two hadn't been evicted yet.

The dog in question was a great, brown, beastly mutt that was constantly straining at its leash and snapping at people that happened to be nearby. The punk never said a word of command to it, and looked as though he could barely keep it in line when it lunged at people. Without the dog by his side, Sanji didn't know what to expect should he try to initiate anything.

Normally, he would have kept his distance. Normally, he would have left well enough alone and conceded defeat to whatever it was that didn't want him working on Saturdays.

But today was not normal. Today was Saturday.

Drawing in an anxious breath of nicotine, he let it go and stood up as the man finished tying up his boot.

"Hey," Sanji said, addressing the punk from a few empty parking spots away. Met with either indifference or ignorance, he scowled and held his cigarette in hand as he called out, "Oi, I'm talking to you."

Unable to tell still if he was being purposefully ignored, Sanji called out louder with more than a slight hint of annoyance in his voice.

"Hey, punk!"

Finally having seemed to catch on to Sanji's trying to get his attention, the punk spared him a glance as he froze in place. Sanji stared at him expectantly as the man began to look around him, turning around stupidly before looking back to face his caller. It almost looked as though the guy was asking if Sanji was looking to pick a fight with him, but even as he prepared himself for the worst, the green-haired man took on an inquisitive look as he dumbly jabbed himself in the chest.

Rolling his eyes, Sanji nodded, relieved.

"Yes, you, dammit; get over here, I need some help."

To Sanji's surprise, the man approached him devoid of all of his usual machismo. He seemed almost affable when he came close enough to ask, "What's up?"

Sanji faltered, not having expected the punk to be the least bit friendly. Recalling his neighbours' stories about how the man's attitude was so rudely displaced, Sanji began to find himself wondering if the amount of bias that seemed to be stacked against him wasn't entirely undeserved.

The ash line of his cigarette grew longer as he caught himself staring at the three safety pins that lined the punk's left ear, and when the man's eyebrows began to furrow, Sanji remembered his intentions.

"My car won't start," he said lamely, gesturing to his car as he tapped the ash off his cigarette. "Wondered if you might be able to give me a jump."

"Oh." The punk turned from Sanji to look at the impotent car. He continued to stare at it silently for a moment before he said, "Well, I would if I could, but I ride a motorcycle, so I can't."

"Dammit," Sanji found himself cursing, turning away angrily to kick at one of his tires. "Shit. Thanks for nothing."

Royally peeved at how his day was turning out, Sanji couldn't help but diss everyone and everything around him, and though he wasn't afraid of fighting the punk, he found himself almost regretting having called the guy out on his uselessness. He really didn't need this Saturday to be any worse than it already was.

To his immense relief, the once fearsome man merely snorted at his comments.

"Hey, it's not my fault, asshole," he said, looking more amused than annoyed at his antics.

"Shit, whatever," Sanji said, sighing heavily and resting back against his car. "Fuck me, though, you were my last hope."

With all his options dashed, Sanji relented and decided he had no other choice but to fall back onto option three. As he finished off his cigarette, flicking the butt off to the side, he leaned up a bit to dig out his cellphone from the deeper reaches of his coat pocket. As he dragged his finger to unlock the screen, he looked up and noticed the punk was still waiting around on him.

"What?" Sanji asked, turning away to glance at the screen in his hand.

"I can give you a ride, if you really need it," the punk said with a slightly questioning tone. "I was about to head out before your dumbass called me over here."

Ignoring the insult, Sanji looked up from his phone and hoped that he didn't look too desperately hopeful at the suggestion.

"Yeah?"

"Sure, yeah." The guy shrugged lazily. "I mean, if you don't mind riding bitch."

Sanji pursed his lips at the terminology and saw that his acquaintance was giving him a bemused grin. Rising to the challenge, Sanji shrugged.

"Fine, I don't care, I just really need to get in to work," he said, standing up again. He glanced at the time on his phone before pocketing it. "I got ten minutes before I'm late; think you can manage that?"

The green haired man grinned.

"The pressure's on."

As he stepped away, Sanji walked back around to the driver's side door of his car and locked it before following the punk to his motorcycle. The man slipped the gig bag off his back and handed it over to Sanji as he straddled himself across the motorcycle's seat.

"You're going to have to carry that while we ride," he said, slipping his key into the ignition and revving the motorcycle to life. "It catches wind, so don't fall off or anything."

Sanji frowned as he strapped the tall guitar to his back.

"And if I do?"

"Then you'll have to buy me a new bass," he said, looking entirely serious as he reached down to pick up an old-school helmet, which he then passed to Sanji.

"Asshole," Sanji grumbled as he put the helmet on and buckled it. He felt stiff as the guitar limited his movements while he slid onto the seat behind him, as the guitar forced his back to maintain an upright position.

Hesitantly, he draped his hands over the punk's shoulders and tried not to lean in too close, as the pointed studs that lined his back patch pressed into him uncomfortably. The motorcycle's engine revved loudly, and Sanji found himself lifting his feet as they were carefully backed out of the parking space.

"Where do you work?" The man had to shout to be heard over the noise of the engine.

"The Baratie," Sanji shouted back, making sure to yell as directly into the punk's ear as possible, and grinned when he saw him wince. "Over on East Sambas street."

The man didn't reply, but sat still for a moment, as though he were thinking about what the best route to take would be. Just as Sanji was about to ask if he knew where that was, the man started them forward, and then they were off.

True to his word, the tall guitar caught a lot of wind resistance as they rode, initially causing Sanji to fear flying off the back. He had to strengthen his hold over the driver as the resistance tried to drag him back, but when they got into the city, their speed dropped to comply with the inner-city speed limit and he found himself relaxing as the wind lost most of its force.

Their surroundings became familiar the longer they rode on, and Sanji felt relief flood him as he thought that he might be able to make it in on time after all. Looking over the punk's shoulder, he could see that they were approaching the Sambas street intersection, and was about to celebrate his success, when his ride drove straight past it.

Confused, Sanji turned back around to watch the street fade back as they rode further away from it. He wondered if the man perhaps knew of some short cut to get him to the Baratie even quicker, but this thought quickly disappeared as soon as he realized that the man's slowed speed meant that he was lost.

"Hey," Sanji said, trying to raise his voice over both the wind and the motorcycle's motor as they rode through unfamiliar streets. "Hey!"

"What?" The guy said, turning his head to glance back at him quickly.

"Where the hell are we going?!"

Instead of replying, the man pulled to the side and stopped to park beside the street sidewalk, using his legs to prop the motorcycle up.

"What?" he repeated when they'd stopped, looking annoyed.

"I said, where the hell are we going? Sambas street was 5 blocks back!" Cross, Sanji got off the back of the motorcycle to pull out his phone and check the time. He thought that they'd been making good time, but this setback had officially made him late. "Goddammit, now I'm late. Good going, shithead."

"Hey," the punk said angrily, putting down the kickstand for his bike to join Sanji on the sidewalk. "I didn't _have _to give you a ride, you know; a little word of thanks would be appreciated."

"Oh, yeah, sure; thanks for making me late!" Sanji scowled and undid the bike helmet, shoving it roughly into the punk's hands. "I can't believe you drove _straight past it_. Are you fucking blind?"

"Well fuck you too," the green-haired man retorted, dropping his helmet onto the motorcycle's seat. Sanji couldn't tell if the red in his face was from embarrassment or from riding against the cold.

"What's your fucking phone number?" Sanji demanded, unlocking his phone and navigating to the contacts folder. He shrugged out of the man's guitar bag and all but threw it at him as the punk stared at him. "Well? Come on then, asshole, I don't have all day."

"I'm between phones right now," he said slowly, narrowing his eyes at Sanji as he put the guitar on his back. "What the fuck do you need it for?"

"So I know I have a ride home after my shift ends." Sanji sighed as he typed up the name for the new contact, labeling it 'Idiot Marimo' for the time being.

"What the fuck makes you think I'm giving you a ride home?" the man snapped angrily.

"Because, shithead, you made me late; you _owe _me now."

"Like hell I do," he said with a snarl, turning to get back on his bike. "Call a fucking cab or something; it's not my fault your car died on you. It's not my responsibility to keep driving your ungrateful ass around."

Sanji grabbed hold of his shoulder and pulled him back before he could remount the bike. The motorcyclist looked about ready to start a fight, then, clenching his fists and stepping in dangerously close to his person, but Sanji ignored his mean look as he calmly took out his pack of cigarettes and fished one out to light.

Inhaling and exhaling slowly in an effort to diffuse the situation, Sanji turned an even look on the man and was met with a mild expression of annoyance.

"Look, fucker, don't make this hard on me. Just give me something I can fucking reach you at at the end of my shift so I don't have to waste my money on some sketchy late night transportation, when I'm probably gonna have to spend all I have on a new battery for my piece of shit car anyway, alright?"

The man looked unwilling still, but as they stood there in the cold on the edge of the sidewalk, eyeing each other warily, he ended up sighing and conceding.

"Fine. Fine, fine. Jesus, you're fucking annoying though," he said, and held out his hand for Sanji's phone.

He was almost afraid that the guy was going to take it and break it, just to spite him, and so was hesitant in handing it over, but once it traded hands, Sanji realized that the guy had no intention of breaking it.

Sanji watched as the guy typed in some kind of contact info, and looked it over when his phone was passed back to him. He stared blankly at what was typed in the section that stored e-mail addresses, and could feel his irritation reach a new threshold as he read what was written.

"'Wildslutangel22 at Yahoo? Are you shitting me?" Gritting his teeth, Sanji glowered at the punk angrily. "Are you for real right now? Swear to god if you're fucking with me-"

"Nah, it's totally legit," the man said, laughing. "It just blows people's minds when I tell 'em it's mine. It's hilarious."

"Christ, you are a real piece of work, you know that?" Sanji said irritably as he pocketed his phone, ignoring the fact that he was now twenty minutes late for work.

"Sure do," he replied, still grinning as he covered his spiked head of hair with his helmet. "Email me a few hours beforehand so I don't forget. Or don't, so I do. And my names Zoro, by the way; to hell with that 'Marimo' shit you're trying to pull."

Sanji gave him the middle finger as he turned away to walk back the way they'd come, only pausing long enough to turn back and yell, "Well with that shitty dye-job, how was I to know?"

He laughed when he saw that Zoro had raised both his middle fingers high up over his head. Feeling a bit better, but still pressed for time, Sanji hurried on down the street even as he saw Zoro ride by, presumably on his way to his own job.

"Fucker!" he shouted after him, and heard, but didn't see, Zoro yell "Asshole!" back over his shoulder in reply.


	2. Misery is the River of the World

If Sanji had thought that showing up for work thirty minutes late was bad, he would have been mortified to have been in Zoro's position.

He'd gotten lost promptly after he'd dropped Sanji off, having no idea what part of town he was in or even how he was meant to get from his current location to his place of employment. He'd rode around for what seemed like hours, turning down unfamiliar streets in directions he didn't know the names of in hopes that, by some random chance, the road might lead him to his job of its own free will.

But when the windchill got to be too much, and his gas level got to being too low, he eventually pulled over and stopped to ask a passerby for directions to Super-Star! Guitars and Music, and only then was he able to get in to work-

an hour and a half late.

Super-Star! Guitars was a low-key, but popular, streetside music store roughly twenty minutes from where he'd departed with Sanji. The store was sat snug between other establishments on one of the busiest downtown streets, and as Zoro rode up to it, he could see that they were seeing plenty of business. Every parking spot in front of the store was full, and usually parking was an issue for most patrons, but for Zoro, it was easy.

He bumped his motorcycle up onto the sidewalk and rode it slowly through the people who were stupid enough to stand in his way and watch him go. He revved the engine to get a few stragglers out of his way as he walked it to where the bike rack was, wherein he parked his motorcycle and cut the engine.

Casting a mean look to a couple who still had their eyes on him, he undid his helmet and tucked it under his arm. He dropped the bike's kickstand and stood up, stretching his back as well as he could with the bass guitar strapped to his back. He dropped his frozen hands into the pockets of his leather jacket and grit his teeth, already dreading the teasing he was sure to get for coming in late.

He fixed his eyes on the storefront and made his way inside.

"You're late." He was greeted immediately by the slight, orange-haired woman who was snickering at him from her spot behind the welcome counter. Zoro scowled and laid his helmet on the counter's surface, leveling her with an irritated gaze.

"Shut up, Nami, I know," he said bitterly as she took his helmet and set it somewhere out of the way.

Nami laughed lightly and leaned back in her wheely chair, twirling a pen nimbly between her fingers.

"You missed three lessons, you know; poor little Tony's _still _sitting back there, waiting on you. What kept you? Don't tell me you got lost."

"Three? I missed _three _lessons?! What the fuck," Zoro said, ignoring the rest of her statement. "What time is it?"

"This is why you need a cellphone, Zoro; I've been trying all morning to get in touch with you," Nami said with a sad sigh, but then began to grin cattily. "I could always spot you the cash for one-"

"No, no, God knows I need to take out another loan from you," Zoro growled through clenched teeth, and walked on by as she laughed loudly at him.

The inside of Super-Star! Guitars was bigger than it looked from the outside, but was filled up with all sorts of musical instruments and a center stage (for open mic nights) that made walking through the store a bit of a challenge. He stepped carefully around the displayed, hand-made guitars that bore the Cutty Flam signature (staring longingly at them as he passed), and made his way to the back of the store where they offered music lessons.

The large banner that advertised them hung above a short, out of the way hallway that Zoro walked down, hoping that he wasn't in for too much trouble. As he turned the corner that led to the waiting room, he could see the lessons coordinator sitting in his office and a small, young little boy looking quite dejected on one of the tacky, hawaiian print couches the owner of the store had insisted on buying.

Guilt began to run through Zoro as he wondered how long the poor kid had been waiting for him.

"Hey, Tony," Zoro said, giving the boy an apologetic smile. "Sorry I'm late; please don't tell your grandma."

Tony's expression immediately picked up when he noticed Zoro.

"Zoro!" he said excitedly, hopping up off of the disgusting looking couch to pick up his small guitar case. Despite it being child sized, Tony still managed to stumble with the bulk of it, but caught himself quickly, and beamed up at Zoro with a wide grin.

"Want me to carry that?" Zoro offered, but Tony shook his head.

"He carried it all the way back here himself." The lessons coordinator who'd been sitting in his office chuckled as he came out to greet Zoro. "You're very late, I see!"

"So I've heard," Zoro said lamely, grumbling at the tall, skinny man. "Hey, Tony, go ahead and get set up, I'll be right in."

"Yes sir!" Tony chirped, and hefted his instrument in his tiny hands and pressed through the double-doors to make his way back into one of the soundproofed lesson booths.

When Tony was gone, Zoro sighed and turned to the coordinator who was humming thoughtfully.

"What's the damage, Brook?"

"Well," he began with a smile. "You have two sets of parents very upset with your unprofessional work demeanor, but neither of them decided to stop their children from seeing you. All in all, it could be worse, but it seems luck has you in her favour today."

"Yeah right." Zoro snorted and mused on Brook's words for a moment before he hesitantly asked, "What'd Franky say?"

Brook laughed aloud and put a hand on Zoro's shoulder, patting it comfortingly despite the studs that protruded forth from his jacket.

"What Franky doesn't know won't hurt him, I dare think!"

"Shit, you're a life-saver," Zoro said, entirely more at ease, and Brook laughed some more.

"Yes, yes, I am! Now go and teach that endearing young child something new!"

Zoro rolled his eyes but nodded, grinning slightly to himself as he followed after his pupil.

When Zoro stepped into the lesson room Tony had set himself up in, he took off the gig bag that held his guitar and propped it against the wall. Tony was watching him silently as he shrugged out of his leather jacket and draped it across the back of his seat before sitting down and reaching out for the stock acoustic 6-string they kept in each room.

He played a few chords as he looked at Tony, who was sat with his child-sized guitar in his barely capable hands. The excitable expression on his face was gone, and he looked more subdued as he swung his legs aimlessly over the edge of the chair.

"What's up, bud?" Zoro asked, leaning over to turn on the amp Tony's guitar was plugged into.

Tony remained mute for a moment before speaking very quietly.

"Are we still gonna play at the Winter Solstice thing?"

"Yeah," Zoro said. "As far as I know. You still want to?"

Tony nodded his head somberly.

"And you're still gonna back me up on the bass, right?"

"Sure am," he said, playing a few chords to the song they'd been practicing. "I think you're ready for your big debut."

Tony smiled, but in a strained sort of way.

"Are you sure?" he asked in a quiet, timid voice.

Zoro grinned and leaned forward to tip Tony's hat off his head, and as the kid scrambled to keep his guitar in his lap while retrieving it, he laughed.

"Sure I'm sure," he said as Tony gave him a malicious look, replacing his hat on his head. "You're really good for a kid your age, I'm sure you'll be a big hit."

"Shut up! Just because you say that doesn't make me proud at all!" Tony said, but his evil look had dissolved into a fit of ecstatic giggles that betrayed his true feelings.

In much lighter spirits since his run in with Sanji that morning, Zoro grinned, and together they launched into a practice of the song they were going to perform at the store-held mini music festival.

However, in a restaurant twenty minutes away, Sanji's stress levels had reached their peak.

Lunch hour was always tough, but today, being the Saturday that it was, seemed to have thrown him a particularly vicious lunchtime rush. No matter what he did, he simply couldn't keep up with the demand, and, to make matters worse, they were short on waiting staff and he'd been forced to fill the empty positions on top of making meals.

To say he was irritable was an understatement.

He'd had three dishes sent back in the duration that he'd been there- dishes that he'd made- and then served- _and then had to take back to himself_. There was no man or god alive that could convince him that Saturday's hadn't been invented to spite him.

By the time the lunch rush had receded, and prep for the dinner service began, Sanji was already on his last cigarette. He'd chain smoked relentlessly through his stress when he could, and burnt out his last pack before the day was even through.

As he sat smoking outside with a few other chefs, in the small break that they had, the day's previous events with his car found a way to gnaw at his already frazzled nerves. Even if he survived the dinner service, could he really rely on that moss-headed asshole to remember to get him? Would the guy even follow through on his word? Scowling, Sanji pulled out his phone and unlocked it, wherein he began to write up an email.

Recepient 'wildslutangel22 '

Subject: hey asshole

Messsage Body: 'if you're even thinking about forgetting to give me a ride home tonight, you'd better think twice. i know where you live. ill call animal control. i get off at 11.'

Satisfied with his reminder, he hit 'send' and resumed smoking until his break ended.

The dinner rush hit the Baratie hard and fast, and Sanji found that he was being overwhelmed almost as soon as it began. He cursed his Saturday luck with having to work with the worst of all their kitchen staff as he struggled to maintain the quality that their restaurant boasted. He felt he was about to be consumed whole by the vicious demand when he felt his phone vibrate a reminder against his leg.

He paused with what he was doing, knowing full well he didn't have the time to be checking his phone, but was also aware that if he didn't stop to take a breather soon he may very well fall apart.

On any normal day, this heavy flow of diners would do little to phase him. But today was not a normal day.

Today was Saturday.

Slipping out of the kitchen with an excuse of having to use the restroom, Sanji retreated into a much calmer portion of the restaurant. He sidled into an open stall, locked the door behind him, and checked his phone's notifications.

Sender: 'wildslutangel22 '

Subject: RE: hey asshole

Message Body: tmi.

Sanji stared at the reply, frowning as he attempted to figure out what he meant by 'tmi', when it hit him suddenly. His frown turned into a fierce scowl as he angrily typed his reply.

'what are you, 12? grow up.'

He sat still on the toilet lid, wondering if he should bother to wait for a reply, when his phone buzzed and offered him one.

'maybe. what am i supposed to do for 3 hours?'

If Zoro had three hours to spare before he came to give Sanji a ride home, that must've meant he got off at eight. Sanji decided he hated this bastard even more than he already did; some guys had all the luck.

'come find me,' he replied bitterly, and tucked his phone back into his pants and exited the bathroom, returning himself to his life-draining work before he wasted anymore time replying to that jackass.

* * *

In the hour before Zoro was allowed to leave, he generally found himself hanging around the front desk with Nami. His work day ended with a group lesson at seven, but in order to get the full-time commissions pay from Franky, he got scheduled to hang around the store till eight.

Sometimes he'd sit around the store playing the various guitars and things that were too expensive for him to afford, but after having played music all day prior, it got to be a little boring repeating himself. Brook was busy scheduling and hosting lessons of his own, Franky was oftentimes in the back carving up a new guitar, and the sales staff were all too afraid of him to be any fun.

That left Nami, one of the few other punks he knew, as his only time-killer. He sat in her rolling chair, refreshing his email on her work computer as she sat beside him on top of the counter.

"You know, you only get new emails when someone sends you something, right?" she remarked cheekily, kicking gently at his arm with one of her thick-soled, floral patterned, booted feet..

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," he said with a resigned tone, and signed out of his email account. He looked up at Nami with a grim expression as he asked, "Can you do me a favour?"

"It'll cost ya," she replied, winking and rubbing her fingers together.

"Come off it, I just need you to find me directions to some place."

"What place?" she asked interestedly, hopping down from her elevated perch to push Zoro away from the computer. He rolled away listlessly as he watched her pull up Google Maps.

"The uh, Bartie? Baratie? Some restaurant."

"The Baratie, really? That's a five-star restaurant, Zoro," she said, giving him a queer look of confusion. "What do you need directions to The Baratie for?"

Zoro sighed and leaned back as far as he could in the chair.

"This asshole who lives in my building conned me into giving him rides for the day," he said to the ceiling. Nami quirked her brow. "He works there or something."

"Is he rich? You should get him to pay you for it," she suggested, snickering to herself as she input the information into the computer.

"Nah, he's probably just their bus-boy," he said with a shrug, twisting around in the chair lazily. "Guy made it sound like he didn't make a lot of money."

Nami didn't say anything as she printed the directions out and handed them to Zoro. When he went to reach for them, she snatched them back and said, "Ah- ah! That'll be $10."

"You fucking witch, just give me the goddamned directions," Zoro growled, standing up to snatch them from her. She laughed as he stuffed them into his jacket, away from her cunning hands.

Nami took this opportunity to reclaim her chair, and sat in it with a flourish. Aware of Zoro's mean look still cast upon her, she gave him a cute grin before she said, "Oh! Almost forgot; guess who's playing at the Hazard in two weeks."

Zoro shrugged, feigning disinterest. "I don't know; who?"

Nami bit her lip, an excited look on her face as she burst out, "The Tralalaws! They're doing a comeback tour!"

"Wait, what? For real? I thought Law was doing med school or something," Zoro said, surprised.

"He graduated and got his band back together; they're doing a comeback tour and they're playing Punk Hazard!"

Nami almost squealed, she was so excited. Zoro, too, he found, was actually interested and excited about what she'd said. The Tralalaws had been a notorious, local hardcore punk band a few years ago, but had dismembered when their frontman decided he wanted a fallback career as a surgeon. But now, to hear that they were getting back together incited a positive reaction in him. It'd been a long time since he'd been to a live show.

"Shit, that's great," Zoro said with a wide grin. His excitement lasted all of two seconds before his grin faded and his shoulders slumped. "Aw, shit; anywhere Law headlines you _know _Smoker and his cronies are going to be there."

Zoro groaned, and Nami's excitement faltered as well.

"So?" she said. "Just avoid him."

"Its not _him _I'm trying to avoid, Nami," Zoro said exasperatedly. "If Law's playing, Smoker will be there. Fact. If Smoker's there, then Tashigi will be, too. Also fact."

Nami's eyes widened slightly as realization dawned on her.

"Ooooh," she said, frowning slightly. Zoro looked at her with an almost helpless gaze as she sighed. "Well, even if she's there, it's the Tralalaws; they're going to draw in a _massive _crowd, so there's no guarantee you'll run into each other."

"I guess," Zoro said, but the doubt in his voice wasn't reassuring.

"Well you can't not go just because you might run into your ex." Nami gave him a supportive grin that was lost in his lousy state of mind. "Besides, Nojiko and I are gonna buy your ticket."

"What, really?" Zoro said, looking surprised, then suspicious. "What's the catch?"

"The catch is that you have to go, come hell or high water, got it?" she said, standing up to punch him affectionately in the shoulder. Zoro wasn't swayed by her act of friendship, though, and continued to leer at her. "Well, that aaand you have to pay us back, double the ticket price."

Groaning, Zoro, ran a hand down his face, dragging his fingers under his eyes.

"Why am I not surprised? I'd be better off buying it myself."

"Well, Zoro, the thing is…" Nami began sweetly, creeping forward to play with the safety pins that lined his ear. "We already bought the ticket," she said, leaning up to whisper in his ear.

He scowled and pushed her away as she laughed and sat in her chair, running her fingers through the shaved parts of her undercut. He spun the chair around quickly, and as she twirled she laughed more until she planted her feet and dizzily came to a stop.

"Shouldn't you be heading out?" She asked breathlessly. "Gotta go pick up your date, don't you?"

Zoro rolled his eyes at her terminology and glanced at the clock display on the computer. Seeing that it was now 8:15, he shrugged and grabbed his motorcycle helmet from where Nami had tucked it away earlier. He pulled out the directions she'd given him and gave them a brief glance as he strapped his helmet on.

"You think you could drop off my guitar tomorrow, since you're coming round anyway?" he asked, looking towards where his gig bag was propped against the back wall. "Don't want to have to worry about that guy falling off with it."

"Of course, no problem; I'll just collect the $10 fee tomorrow," she said with a snicker, to which Zoro groaned.

"Fine, fine, whatever, just don't mess it up," he said, and walked around the counter and headed out the door.

Nami didn't bother asking him how he planned on reading the directions while he rode along on his bike; merely smiled and waved him on his way.


	3. Fight to Live

When the dinner rush that Sanji had struggled miserably through was finally over, he found that he was far from relieved. The stress that'd built up while he was working hadn't found an outlet, and had condensed itself into one of the worst headaches he'd ever endured. He found himself wishing he'd saved his last cigarette, for he certainly felt he needed it now more than ever.

To make matters worse, the other chefs he'd been working with wouldn't shut up about his poor performance, and no matter how many times he argued that it wasn't his fault, honest, it's _Saturday-_ no one would hear him out. They laughed at him behind his back, and a few of the bolder ones laughed about him to his face. The sultry, older chefs mumbled to one another about how he was making pathetic excuses for himself, and wondered why Zeff hadn't fired him yet, when, as luck should have it, Zeff appeared in the kitchen.

All movement ceased as the cleanup process was paused to focus on what he had to say, for it wasn't often that he came around when the kitchen was closed. Retired now, he didn't have a whole lot to do but yell and fight with his staff, and everyone wanted to know who he was about to lay into.

Zeff eyed all his employees evenly before his eyes rested on Sanji, who groaned inwardly when the rest of his coworkers began to sneer and jeer.

"You," he said gruffly. "Follow me."

Sanji felt his coworkers had jinxed him as he put the plates he'd been washing aside. Shit, he really wasn't in the mood to get chewed out. He ignored the low 'oooooh's of trouble and snickering that followed after him as he left with Zeff, but elbowed a few of the more obnoxious chefs roughly when he passed.

He told himself he wasn't nervous, but as he walked through the now empty restaurant to the back rooms where Zeff's office was, he found his fingers twitching anxiously, trying to reach for a cigarette he didn't have.

"What's this about, old man?" he asked as they walked, but Zeff didn't answer, and Sanji tried his best to ignore the weird palpitations in his chest.

Zeff's office was dark when they entered, but neither of them turned on the light. There was a low, dark glow that came in through the back window, and with what little light it provided, illuminated the aging features of the restaurant's owner. He'd turned to give Sanji a knowing, even stare, and Sanji could feel the disappointment emanating from it when Zeff turned away and went to take a seat behind his desk.

He didn't ask Sanji to sit.

"What happened today?" he asked sternly, and his voice left no room to cut around the question. His eyes, heavy and tired with age, bore into Sanji, who felt that his voice sounded deeper and more foreboding in the dark.

He felt dread begin to curdle in his stomach as he met Zeff's judgemental gaze and knew that nothing he said would be enough to excuse his poor performance. He cleared his throat and attempted to present himself with more confidence than he felt, but knew, ultimately, that it would be futile.

"It's Saturday," he offered, and even he could hear how lame he sounded. Christ, what he wouldn't give to have a cigarette right now. "Saturdays are my bad days. You know that; everyone knows that."

Zeff said nothing for a while, but ended up looking away and sighing.

"I don't care what goddamned day it is, your cooking was twice as shitty as it usually is-"

"My cooking isn't shitty," Sanji countered angrily, bristling slightly.

"...and if it keeps up, I can't keep having you around," he finished bluntly, and the look on his face was very serious.

'_Shit_,' he thought to himself, and not even his momentary rage could wash out the cold dread that seemed to begin to consume him.

"It's not-" he began, but faltered when Zeff looked at him again, and Sanji could see that he wasn't meeting the level of expectations he held as his son, or head chef. The lines on his face appeared deep and cavernous in the dark, and almost seemed to threaten to swallow Sanji whole. "It's just been an off day. I'll be better tomorrow," he finished saying, ignoring the way his fingers tapped against his leg and curled them into his palm.

They stared each other down in the darkness of the office until Zeff broke contact to shake his head somberly.

"No, Sanji; no tomorrow," he said sternly, and Sanji's stomach dropped clear through to the floor.

"You can't fire me," he said, clenching his shaking fists as he took a defensive step forward. "You can't fucking fire me because I had one off day!"

"Calm down, you punk ass kid," Zeff growled, eyeing Sanji fiercely. The atmosphere in the office swelled with a charged, tense energy that surrounded them and left Sanji with an uncomfortable need to defend himself. "It's not been just '_this one day_'; every fucking goddamned Saturday you pull shit like this, so I'm not firing you- you're taking the month off."

Of all the things Zeff could have said, Sanji had not been expecting that. He floundered, narrowing his eyes at Zeff as he opened and shut his mouth, and while he was relieved that he wasn't being fired, and therefore wouldn't have to fight his foster-father over it, he didn't know what this meant exactly.

"What, you're putting me on leave? For a _month?_" he spat out, squinting to see Zeff in the darkness and caught him nodding affirmation. "Fuck that! A day- two days, at most!- is all I need! What the fuck am I supposed to do for a month?!"

"Get a damned hobby, you mooching kid." Zeff stood up to face Sanji at eye-level from across the room, daring him to confront him on this issue. "I said a month, so it's a month. Be grateful it's paid leave; I'm _paying _you to take a break. Take some cooking courses- you need them."

He started to walk around the side of his desk to leave, but Sanji grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him back to argue, and immediately regretted his mistake. Zeff crouched down, still surprisingly agile for a man his age, and swept Sanji's legs out from under him, using the heavy weight of his prosthetic to take him down.

"You fucking bastard!" Sanji exclaimed as he fell to the floor, even as Zeff gave him a scornful look and left the room. "You- shitty excuse for a father!"

Humiliated, he slammed his balled fist against the floor and sat sulking in his rage and embarrassment until he felt collected enough to face the rest of the staff and finish closing.

Outside of the Baratie, Zoro sat shivering on his motorcycle, trying to warm his hands by slapping them together. He tucked them up into his armpits as his teeth chattered, and he gave a nasty glare to the restaurant's entrance.

Unsurprisingly, it had taken Zoro almost the entire 3 hours to find his way there. He'd quickly discovered upon leaving Super-Star! Guitars that it was no easy feat to read directions while riding down the road with no barrier between him and the wind. Eventually, the wind had swept the directions out of his hands and he'd gotten lost before he could even blink or realize he didn't have Nami's print-out with him anymore.

And even then, once he _had _found the place, the people working the front wouldn't let him inside to wait. They'd scorned his punkish attire and condemned him to freeze his ass off in the cold until the blonde jackass from earlier decided to grace him with his presence.

That'd been almost an hour ago, and Zoro was just about ready to hightail it out of there. Of course he'd thought about leaving him, but his threats from earlier had bothered him enough to keep him rooted in place. Zoro really couldn't afford for anyone to call animal control on his dog _again. _So he sat still, trying to avoid contracting hypothermia by warming his hands as best he could in whatever crude manner he could think of.

Man, he wished he'd worn his riding gloves.

He was about to stuff them down his pants out of desperation when he heard a door open from the direction of the restaurant, and turned his head to see Sanji stalking towards him. He sighed in relief, but held his face in cross expression to best convey his irritation.

"F-finally," he said, trying to keep his teeth from chattering as he shivered and spoke. "W-what took you so f-f-fucking long?"

"Shut the fuck up," Sanji growled, shooting him a glare that had death written all over it. "Just shut up and take me to a goddamned convenience store."

"H-hey, t-that's no way to talk to the g-guy who froze his b-balls off waiting for your s-sh-itty self," Zoro chattered, trying his best to appear mean despite how cold he was. It didn't work, and Sanji stole his helmet from off his head and put it on before clambering on to the back of the bike.

"Look, fucker, I'm not in the mood for any of your shit," he said, leaning forward to growl angrily. "Just take me somewhere I can buy some fucking cigarettes."

"I-I'm not your ch-chauffeur," Zoro tried to say as he started his bike. "Y-you're just lucky I need to get s-some fucking gas."

He revved the engine and put up the kickstand, and they took off with a wobble down the road.

Earlier, when the sun had been out, Sanji hadn't minded riding on the motorcycle; the breeze had been nice, refreshing even, but now it seemed fatal. He lowered his head, resting his forehead on Zoro's back to avoid the windchill, and remained hunched over till the motorcycle was stopped. Looking up, Sanji blinked at the bright, fluorescent lights that illuminated the gas pumps of the station Zoro had stopped at.

Propping out the kickstand, Zoro rubbed his hands together as they both dismounted and Sanji took off the helmet.

"Don't even think about leaving me here," he growled threateningly, to which Zoro rolled his eyes.

"W-whatever," Zoro replied, shoving Sanji as they both made their way into the convenience store.

The store was primarily empty save for Zoro and Sanji when the entered, save for the poor fool who had to work the late night shift. Zoro went to the counter straight away to pre-pay for gas, and Sanji, looking around, noticed two shady looking men standing by the store's entrance.

If they were muggers, he hoped they'd mug Zoro first; he really felt that he couldn't be bothered to deal with that kind of shit right now. He kept his eye on them as he strolled aimlessly around the store, looking at their limited selection of beer and energy drinks as he waited for his turn.

When Zoro had finished pre-paying for his gas, he left the counter and exited the store. Sanji noticed the two guys exchange a nod to one another before following him out, but ignored it; Zoro was an adult, he could fend for himself. Sanji doubted they'd try anything too radical by the front of the store anyway.

He approached the counter and asked for two packs of the brand of cigarettes he smoked. As the cashier reached over head to pull them down and ring them up, he glanced outside to where Zoro's motorcycle was parked by the gas pump, but could see neither him nor the other two men that'd followed him out. Frowning, he looked away to pay and stuffed one of the packs into his pocket before immediately opening the other. Feeling uneasy, but desperate for a smoke, he exited the store and looked around for them again as he pulled out a cigarette.

He found them standing off to the side, away from the clear, windowed storefront. The two men were huddled around Zoro, and as Sanji put the cigarette to his lip, his frown deepened as he made his way over to where they were standing. Upon hearing him approach, one of the men, who, Sanji noticed, had a gross tattoo lining his face, looked up and immediately took on a defensive position.

Noticing his partner's stance, the other man looked up, too, and copied his posture. Sanji narrowed his eyes but stopped where he stood, until finally Zoro noticed him as well.

"Relax, he's cool," Sanji heard Zoro say dismissively, and the two men immediately relaxed.

"Any friend of Zoro's is a friend of ours," one of them said, and the small group parted to let Sanji in. "But you can never be too careful, you know?"

Confused, he took part in the huddle in time to see Zoro exchange money with the guy who had the tattoo on his face. In return, he got a small baggie full of what Sanji assumed was weed, though the plant appeared purple in colour.

"You want some?"

Sanji blinked dumbly at the man before finding himself looking at Zoro, who was busy inspecting the contents of the bag he'd purchased.

"It's good stuff! Brother Zoro can vouch for us," the tattooed man's partner said.

"It's pretty damn good," Zoro agreed as he put the baggie in his pocket. "Hook him up with a trial, Johnny; I'm feeling generous tonight."

Before Sanji could speak, the man named Johnny had shoved a small baggie of weed into his hand and then pulled him into a one armed hug.

"Need a light, brother?" the other man asked as Johnny let him go, and it was then Sanji realized he hadn't lit his cigarette.

"Uh, sure," he said, feeling far too surprised to react in any appropriate manner. He leaned in when he produced a lighter from out of his pocket. "Thanks," he mumbled after it'd been lit and he drew away.

After his cigarette had been lit, Johnny hugged Zoro the same way he'd hugged Sanji and then clapped him on the back. Rolling his eyes, Zoro pat him on the shoulder until the two dealers began to leave.

"See ya, brother!" Johnny called as he left with his partner to go back into the store.

"What the fuck just happened?" Sanji asked as he stuffed the baggie into his pocket.

"Johnny and Yosaku," Zoro mumbled, and began to walk back towards the pumps. "They're like a cheap knockoff of Jay and Silent Bob. Good weed, though."

Sanji stood smoking on the curb by the convenience store as Zoro left him to pump gas. The surprise drug deal still had him confused, and as he shivered slightly from the cold and drew up the collar of his overcoat, he wondered what he was supposed to do with the weed he'd been given.

To be honest, Sanji wasn't big on drugs; he'd smoked pot maybe once in high school and hadn't enjoyed it, and therefore had nothing to smoke it with. He frowned to himself as his headache began to re-emerge, and willed Zoro to hurry up and finish refueling.

He smoked slowly, taking his time in enjoying his cigarette and hoping it would soothe the throbbing ache in his head. The stress that had gathered in him during the day dissolved little by little as he breathed it out into the cold night air. He watched it condense and mix with the smoke and was momentarily able to forget his worries and stressors as he watched them whither away.

When he heard the clink of the gas pump being put back into its holster, Sanji grounded himself with a sigh and dropped his cigarette. He stubbed it out with a turn of his heel as he walked back to meet Zoro, who stood watching him with an unreadable expression.

"You owe me gas money," Zoro said when he'd gotten close enough, and Sanji could feel his irritation come back full swing.

"Fuck off," he retorted angrily as he got onto the bike after Zoro, pulling the helmet back onto his head. "It's not my fault you got lost and wasted it all riding around like a fucking dumbass."

Zoro revved the bike's engine in what Sanji assumed was his attempt to threaten him, but instead made him roll his eyes.

"Look, fucker, I'm doing this out of the goodness of my own heart; I didn't _have _to give you a ride this morning, and I sure as shit didn't have to spend two hours freezing myself to death waiting to give you a ride home," he said as Sanji scowled and put his hands around Zoro's waist. He slapped at his stomach irritably and could hear Zoro grunt in response as he began to roll them out to meet the main road. "A little compensation would be nice," he said, reaching down to twist Sanji's hand back

"Don't fucking touch me-" Sanji began, pulling his hand away as he was cut off when Zoro revved the engine again to speed off down the road.

He was going to make a snide comment about how he hoped Zoro wouldn't get them lost on the way back to their apartment building, but the cold had him biting his tongue and ducking his head down once again to avoid the severe wind chill.

The ride back to their complex was fairly uneventful and largely straightforward. To Zoro's credit, he seemed to know the way from the gas station well enough and only had to turn around once. As they drove on, Sanji's exhaustion that had accumulated during the day seemed to catch up with him, and though he tried his best not to, he found himself nodding off occasionally.

Without much to focus on other than his own failures and the way the wind made an obnoxious whistling sound through the holes in Zoro's helmet, Sanji hoped he wouldn't fall off the back end of the bike when Zoro slowed down to pull into a parking space in front of their building.

Sanji felt such immense relief the likes of which he was sure he'd never known before; this Saturday, this terrible, wretched, life-ruining Saturday was finally over. He'd go to sleep, call Zeff in the morning, and try and convince him to forgive his shortcomings and forget that this day had ever happened at all. He'd get his job back and he'd conquer whatever curse had been laid upon him to make Saturdays so all consumingly awful for him and be reborn into greatness.

Well, that was the idea, anyway.

Unbuckling the helmet, Sanji dismounted the motorcycle and shoved it into Zoro's hands before he could say anything.

"Thanks for the ride, jackass," he said as he stepped up onto the sidewalk and hurriedly began to make his way to his apartment.

"Hold on a fucking minute," Zoro called, awkwardly trying to get off his motorcycle quickly enough to catch up with Sanji. He stumbled, but was fast enough to latch onto his shoulder and pull him back before Sanji could enter the building. "I'm serious now, you owe me some money for all this."

"Hey, fuck you," Sanji snarled, yanking himself from out of his grip. He turned to face Zoro with a sneer, jabbing him in the chest with his finger to drive home his final point. "I don't owe you shit; you were, as I recall, doing this out of the '_goodness of your own heart_'; so quit fucking griping to me about your own idiocy!"

Zoro went silent and still, but the look on his face said this wasn't over yet. Sanji narrowed his eyes and brought his hand down to his side, readying himself for what surely was about to be a fight.

And then Zoro relaxed; his posture slouched and his arms went lax, so it was with complete surprise that Sanji suddenly found himself the victim of a ferocious headbutt. Zoro came in fast, quickly smashing their foreheads together with a determined look on his face. Sanji reeled backwards, grasping at the point of connection as he let out a yowl of pain loud enough, he was sure, to wake the neighbours.

"What the FUCK is your problem?!" he shouted, trying to deal with the pain of the random act of violence and his headache all at once, and looked up at Zoro to find that his vision had blurred.

"You are," Zoro said simply, tucking his hands into the pockets of his leather coat and acting as though this were a completely normal occurrence for him.

"So you fucking _headbutt _me?!"

"Yes," he said, but even then suddenly seemed unsure of what he'd done. "I always meet my problems head on."

If Sanji hadn't been in so much pain, he would have laughed. On top of being a violent asshole, the guy was a complete _moron._

And then, while Zoro was caught unawares, Sanji lifted himself upright and dished out a mean roundhouse kick that caught him under the chin. Zoro fell backwards, but when he brought himself up again a snarl had curled his lips. There was no hesitation on either end as they launched themselves at each other; punching and kicking under the parking lot's streetlamp, each of them fighting to try and prove to the other that they were in the right.

Each of them thought the other would be a pushover and were, both of them, dismayed to find that they seemed to be on equal fighting level. Sanji could feel his ribs being bruised as Zoro's fists laid into him, and likewise Zoro could tell that he was going to have a black eye in the morning.

All the compressed, negative energy that Sanji had been harboring throughout the day exploded outwards in his attacks, providing emotional relief he hadn't thought he'd needed as Zoro's fists grounded him with the justification that it was okay to feel like life had ripped him off.

The fight didn't last as long as it felt it did, and ended only when Zoro began to laugh. He fell back from one of Sanji's kicks and sat straight on his ass and stared up at him blankly. His anger dissipated instantly, and Sanji scowled to see him laugh even as he stood panting from the exhaustion.

"Fuck you!" he shouted, flipping Zoro the bird as he turned away and to storm angrily into his apartment. He could hear Zoro climbing the stairs some minutes later, still chuckling to himself about whatever it was he'd found so funny, and cursed his name.


	4. I Hate Your Guts on Sunday

Sanji woke up the next morning feeling bad.

Not in a sickly sense, though his headache hadn't gone away and his body was sore from where it had bruised from the fight he'd had with Zoro. He felt bad in terms of his character, as though he'd done something mean and deserved to be reprimanded for it.

And he did, he realized; he'd been incredibly rude towards Zoro when he'd asked for money, and although he didn't feel apologetic in the slightest, (really, it was the punk's own fault for offering a ride in the first place), he did feel that his character had suffered for refusing to pay him. He knew that, if circumstances had been changed, and he was the one giving rides to Zoro, he would have wanted money for it, too, and would have pitched a royal fit if the ungrateful bastard hadn't at least compensated him for the spent gas.

Lying in bed, he stared up dismally at the ceiling and thought about the unfairness of life.

Yesterday's bad manners, he thought, could be written off due to the fact that it was _Saturday_ and he had no real control over himself on _Saturdays _because of whatever unfortunate curse it was that plagued him. If he had, he probably wouldn't have been 'fired', and his car would still work, and then he wouldn't have even _needed _to meet Zoro in the first place.

And oh, shit, his fucking _car. _

He groaned miserably and turned over on his bed to lie face down on his pillow. Even if he hadn't been fired, Saturday's curse would still have carried over into today when it had damned his car's battery. Those things didn't fix themselves on their own.

Which meant he'd need a ride to an auto store.

Turning his face to the side, he glanced at the digital display of his alarm clock and noted that it was only 6:30 in the morning. He'd had a late night, and tiredly closed his eyes again to get some more rest.

Obviously, he would deal with his problems later.

When next he woke, it was at the much more reasonable hour of 10:30. He felt groggy as he sat up and yawned, but ignored it as he stood and stretched his back. He casually dressed himself in the clothes he'd worn yesterday and went into the bathroom that connected to his room.

He stared at his reflection in the mirror listlessly and began to brush his fringe into place with his fingers. He looked paler, somehow; tired, even though he'd just woken up. Faint, dark circles underlined his eyes and the goatee he was growing looked unkempt and unprofessional. He looked like he needed a cigarette.

Though it was an unofficial rule, smoking in the apartment units was typically frowned upon by the Thousand Sunny Acres staff and could land the tenant with a fine if they were caught. He hated having to go outside to have a smoke, but was left with no other choice. He grumbled to himself irritably as he trudged into the main living area of his apartment and looked out the window.

One of the perks of living in an apartment on the ground floor, he'd found, was that he was able to see everything that went on in the parking lot. He didn't consider himself to be much of a snoop, but it was handy when it came to watching out for women.

He was hoping to see one of the ladies he occasionally smoked with as he put on his overcoat and tapped on his shoes, but he scowled when he saw instead the face of the punk he'd lately become all too familiar with.

Zoro was outside, standing around aimlessly and looking bored on the sidewalk that lined the parking lot. Sanji sighed as he fished his hand into the pocket of his coat to withdraw his new pack of cigarettes, and paused when his fingers were met with the small baggie of weed that'd been thrust upon him last night instead.

The main reason he hadn't wanted to pay Zoro, (besides being cursed with Saturday night agitation), was because he didn't carry cash. His paychecks were directly deposited into his bank account, which meant, essentially, he never had a need to carry cash around. Even if he had wanted to pay Zoro last night, he wouldn't have been able to unless he'd paid for it directly himself. The idiot had pre-paid for it before he'd even brought up the fact that he wanted compensation, leaving Sanji to figure, again, that this was all that morons fault.

Frowning, his fingers tightened around the bag and pulled it out. He stared at it and wondered if maybe this would be enough to make up for it. He had no plans to smoke it himself, anyway.

Glancing out the window again to make sure Zoro was still out there, Sanji dropped the weed back into his pocket and stepped outside.

The first thing Sanji noticed was that it wasn't as chilly as it had been yesterday. His coat was largely unnecessary, but he felt it was too late now to go back and change. The second thing he noticed as he walked out of the breezeway was that Zoro was walking his dog, and it had suddenly become aware of him.

It lunged, snarling, and almost yanked itself free of Zoro's surprisingly lax grip. Sanji shouted and stepped back as it barked, and Zoro seemed to have to exert all his might to keep his dog from going after him.

"Chopper, no!" he yelled, pulling hard at the leash while Sanji stood staring at him, far too surprised to move. "Chopper!"

"What the fuck is wrong with your dog?!" Sanji found himself saying, shaking out of his stupor to take offense.

He'd heard that Zoro's dog was big, but seeing it in person was overwhelming. Big, he realized, was an understatement; the thing was _huge- _monstrously so_._

"What the fuck do you want?" Zoro growled through grit teeth, focusing hard on keeping his dog under control. Chopper's hackles were raised as he strained hard at the leash, saliva dripping from his mouth as he growled lowly in Sanji's direction. It looked as though he could yank himself free of Zoro's grip at any time, momentarily causing Sanji to forget what he'd wanted to say.

Ignoring the way his hands had begun to shake at the threat of the massive dog coming after him, he went to take out his pack of cigarettes and remembered what he'd come outside for when his hand brushed the baggie of weed.

"I uh, was going to apologize about last night," he said, taking out a cigarette and lighting it. His eyes never left Chopper, who was still pulling purposefully against his lead. "I need to give you the stuff we got from, uh, Johnny, last night."

Zoro looked confused for a moment and frowned.

"What? Why?" he asked stupidly, and then shook his head and yelled at Chopper when he lunged again. "Look, just- just come by my apartment in an hour," he said, pulling Chopper away as they stepped on down the sidewalk. "I can't talk with Chopper."

"Which one's yours?" Sanji called, smoking lazily now that the threat of being eaten alive was dwindling.

"Top floor," Zoro yelled, and then gestured to the opposite side of the building as he turned away with his dog. "All the way at the back; on the right!"

He watched Zoro walk down the sidewalk and saw them step off into the woods that lined the apartment complex. Sanji let out a relieved breath and tapped the ash off the end of his cigarette and then turned to stare at his car. Damned piece of junk.

Wondering if, perhaps, Saturday's curse might have faded, he pulled out his keys from his coat pocket and made to try and revive it. He unlocked the door and left it open as he sat smoking in the drivers seat, and then tried the ignition. It made a promising sound and Sanji thought it was about to start before the engine gagged and gave way to nothing.

He scowled and sighed, but kept himself seated until his cigarette was done. When he'd finished smoking, he looked around to see if he might see Zoro again, but when he didn't, he locked his car, flicked the butt away, and walked back into his apartment.

With an hour to spare between now and their meeting, Sanji shrugged out of his coat and set about making himself a late breakfast. His mind wandered as he brought out his culinary equipment and started to cook. His movements were languid and natural, and it didn't take long before he lost himself to the feeling of productivity. He pretended he was at the Baratie while he prepped his ingredients and wondered, vaguely, if he ought to try and ask Zeff to reconsider their arrangement. He didn't realize he'd prepared too much food until he was halfway through with cooking it all.

He frowned down at the surplus, but before he could get angry at himself for making a wasteful amount, he shrugged and continued cooking. He'd just bring the leftovers to Zoro as an extra peace offering. He doubted the guy had ever eaten anything of five-star quality before, and smirked to himself, taking pride in his cooking, knowing there was no way Zoro could hate him after he'd eaten something so delicious for free.

Once he'd finished making his meal, he ate what he could and then put the rest on a clean plate and wrapped it with saran wrap. He took out his cellphone and glanced at the time, noting that he still had 20 minutes before Zoro had asked him to come by, and sat down in front of the tv to see what was new on the Cooking Network.

He half-watched whatever Rachael Ray was talking about until he noticed that it was time to head upstairs. He felt giddy as he debated on whether or not to wear his coat up, but couldn't pin why exactly he felt that way. He ignored it as he decided he looked better with his coat on and then gathered up the plate of extra food he'd made and left his apartment.

He'd heard Zoro stomping up the stairs when he returned with Chopper sometime ago, and noted that he was a lot quieter ascending the steps than the punk was. As he climbed up the flight of stairs, he began to notice that he was following a trail of dried mud and wondered if this was Zoro's doing.

When he got to the top floor, 3 flights of stairs later, he snickered to himself as he followed the trail of mud to the apartment that Zoro had indicated. He stepped around the large clumps as he went to knock on the door, and then abruptly stopped himself.

Zoro's dog hadn't been happy to see him on the street, what would happen when he saw him at the door? Could this be Zoro's way of getting back at him for their fight last night? He wondered, but considered the fact that, if Zoro had really wanted to sic his dog on him, he probably would've just done it when they'd met in the parking lot.

He knocked steadily on the door and then stepped back, breaking apart a thick clot of mud. It took a few moments, but when the door opened, there was no giant dog in sight.

Zoro gave him an odd look when he saw the plate of food in hand, but ignored it and invited Sanji in.

Confused, Sanji stood where he was.

"I thought I was just dropping Johnny's stuff off," he explained when Zoro quirked his brow.

"I got my gravity bong out," Zoro said, rolling his eyes and looking impatient. "We'll smoke your stuff and call it even. Like a, y'know, smoke 'em peace pipe type of thing."

"That's racist."

"It's the best analogy I could come up with."

"What about your dog?"

"I put him on his anxiety meds. He's sleeping in his crate in the back." Zoro raised his brow at him and leaned against his open door, crossing his arms. When Sanji didn't move, he sighed and dropped his arms, tucking his hands into the pockets of his denim vest. "Quit pussyfooting around and get in here."

"Jackass," Sanji grumbled before stepping inside.

Unsurprisingly to him, there was a mess of dried mud scattered across the hardwood floor that led to where Zoro's boots sat on a bath rug along the far wall. Sanji was half-tempted to ask about it, but thought better of it as Zoro shut the door behind him. He gave a quick glance to both the food in Sanji's hand and the coat he was wearing before passing him into the main living area.

"What's that for?" Zoro asked, and Sanji shrugged.

"I made extra; figured I'd give them to a guy who obviously had no taste."

Zoro tch'd and took the plate when Sanji offered it to him and made his way around the tall separating counter and into his kitchen.

"You can take your coat off," Zoro said as he opened his fridge and dumped the plate inside. "There's dog hair everywhere but you can set it wherever's clean."

"You're not gonna eat that?" Sanji asked as he took off his coat and looked around for a spot devoid of dog hair. True to his word, though, there was dog hair everywhere; nowhere looked clean, so he simply held onto it. He'd decided that the giddy feeling he'd had earlier was from wanting to see Zoro experience his cooking, and was disappointed that he wasn't going to eat it right away. "I'm going to want my plate back, so you'd better eat it soon."

"Whatever." Zoro sounded dismissive as he came back around and walked past Sanji to take a seat in the armchair in his living room.

Sanji stood around absently for a moment before he followed after Zoro, holding his coat as he sat down on the worn leather couch in front of what he assumed was the gravity bong.

A liter bottle of soda had been cut in half and was resting in a small, clear bucket of water on top of the coffee table. A stem and bowl were stuck in the side of the bottle, held in place with what looked like dried gum. Sanji stared at it with complete incomprehension.

"I feel like now is probably the time where I tell you I don't smoke," he said, digging into his coat pocket to withdraw the weed.

"Bullshit," Zoro remarked, snorting as he took the baggie from Sanji. "You were smoking when you caught me with Chopper."

"Yeah, _tobacco."_

Zoro shrugged in response and Sanji scowled. He sat back in the sofa and watched as Zoro opened the little baggie to inspect the product.

"Their stuff usually doesn't have seeds," Zoro commented as he pulled a few away from the plant. "This trial shit, though; not a good way to market their stuff." He shook his head disapprovingly.

Sanji watched him separate the seeds from the plant disinterestedly before casting his gaze away to look at the various posters that lined the walls.

They were mostly gig posters advertising shows in venues he knew were local but had never heard of or been to. A few of them had signed setlists attached to them, but the ones that caught his attention the most were the large, colourful band posters that looked handprinted.

Simple in colour- most of them had only two or three tones- they featured extravagant linework that made up for the lack of detailed colouring, and illustrated various romantic scenes and settings centered around obscure band names.

"Did you make those?" Sanji asked, gesturing to the posters, though he didn't take Zoro to be an artist; especially not a romantic one.

Zoro didn't look up, but shook his head.

"Nah. The store I work at has this guy that comes in to paint stuff, and he makes posters and shit for this weird underground art scene he's a part of. Sometimes he gives me what he can't sell," he said, finally satisfied with what was left of the weed. He began to break it apart and packed some into the bowl in the side of the bottle. "He makes all my patches, too," he said, sitting back and pulling out the sides of his vest to show off the various patches that were sloppily sewn into it. "Names Usopp, he's some kind of freelance artist, I think."

"Usopp," Sanji said, musing quietly to himself before a look of recognition crossed his features. "Curly hair, long nose?"

"Yeah," he said slowly, narrowing his eyes slightly before he looked away to search for a lighter. "How do you know him?"

"My old man hired him for some interior design work a little while ago." Trying to feel casual, Sanji let himself rest back against the sofa with his coat folded in his lap. He watched Zoro lift some junk up off the table and scatter other things around before giving up his search.

"You got a lighter?" he asked, and Sanji nodded and pulled his out, handing it over to him. Zoro didn't take it and gave it a strange look.

"What?"

"It's white," he said. "White lighters are bad luck."

Sanji rolled his eyes and set it upright on the table.

"Says who?"

"The 27 Club, man," Zoro said around a scowl and stood up. "I got a book of matches somewhere; you can put that death omen away."

"I didn't take you to be the superstitious type," Sanji said as he rolled his eyes and picked up his lighter. He held it in his hand and looked down at it; he'd never heard before that white lighters were bad luck. He shrugged and pocketed it as Zoro left him to search through his apartment.

He took his cellphone out and checked the time, noticing that the Baratie would be starting its infamous lunch service soon. He sighed, wishing he were in the kitchens there and working instead of hanging out with the punk he'd barely come to know.

He could hear Zoro rifling around in whatever backroom he'd disappeared into, but it didn't seem like he'd be coming back anytime soon. Standing up, Sanji laid his coat on the seat and went to take a closer look at Usopp's posters.

"Hey," he said, but when Zoro didn't answer he repeated himself louder. "Hey!"

"What?" Zoro asked, but his voice was muffled and distant.

"These are all signed 'Sogeking', not Usopp."

Sanji heard a grunt emanate from Zoro's direction and turned to look down the short hall he'd gone down.

"It's his street name," Zoro eventually said after a moment of silence. "He does a lot of graffiti and stuff; can't sign that shit with his real name. Sogeking is his Banksy."

"Oh."

He continued to admire the posters for a minute or two before he grew bored of that and went to sit back down, when someone knocked on the front door. Sanji paused and then turned to face the door and then looked back at the gravity bong.

'_Oh shit,' _he thought as a mild panic overtook him. Dammit, it was just his luck to get busted; he should've known better.

"Hey, Zoro, open up!" The voice outside was female and kept insistently knocking on the door. "I know you're home, I saw your bike outside!"

"Someone's at the door," Sanji called lamely into the back, nervously hoping Zoro would know what to do.

"So answer it," he heard Zoro say, and his hope vanished.

"You sure?"

"Yeah, fuckin'- let her in, man," Zoro grunted, sounding strained, and Sanji wondered if he was still just looking for a book of matches.

He shrugged to himself and performed the Catholic cross across himself as he went to answer the door.

'_God,' _ he thought. '_If I'm going to be busted, at least make this woman busting me hot.'_

He opened the door, and saw that she was.

"Praise the Lord."


	5. Everybody Must Get Stoned

The woman at the door turned out to be the most beautiful redhead Sanji had ever seen, and to his credit, he had seen a fair amount.

But this girl- this one before him now- was gorgeous in every sense of the word, and he could feel his heart thump wildly in his chest as she turned her brown-eyed gaze upon him. Briefly he wondered if this might be love at first sight even as she looked at him with a confused expression.

Sanji soon found himself short of breath, and despite his initial fear of being caught, he recognized that she was, clearly, one of Zoro's friends and tried his best to relax.

But honestly, how could he, when her luscious, long hair was tied into a high ponytail that revealed her neatly trimmed undercut and a swans length of her beautifully pale neck? She was tantalizing in every sense of the word, and he couldn't help himself from giving her a once-over.

Her shorts- denim, ragged, and obviously hand cut- revealed slim, long, pale legs that left him mentally drooling over her. He almost swooned when she cocked her head at him and soon found himself subject to the queerest look a woman had ever given him. Realizing he wasn't flattering himself, he snapped to attention and outstretched his hand, wearing the most charming smile he could muster in the face of this astounding beauty.

"Hello-" he said in an attempt to begin to introduce himself, but she frowned and looked over his shoulder into Zoro's apartment.

"Excuse me," she said and pushed past him to get inside. "Zoro?" she called, lugging in a large blue cooler with Zoro's gig bag strapped to her back. She ignored Sanji outright as she stepped into the living area, using both hands to pull the cooler with her. "There's a creep at the door."

Wounded, Sanji wilted behind her and shut the door politely as she walked the cooler around and into Zoro's kitchen.

"I have your stupid guitar," she spoke again, speaking louder now that she noticed Zoro wasn't in the front room. She gave Sanji another weird look when he followed her, and made sure to set the cooler on the floor between them. "And Chopper's food… Zoro, do you know this guy's here?"

"Yeah, he's the asshole from yesterday," Zoro said, finally emerging from the back room he'd been submerged in, victoriously clutching a book of matches in his hand. "Just ignore him."

"Excuse you," Sanji said, and both punks directed their attention to him as he frowned deeply and strode forward to confront Zoro. "How dare you introduce me to such a _gorgeous _lady like that with such little grace! What lies have you been telling this angel about me? What tall-tales have you been telling her to bastardize me with?"

There was a brief moment of silence before Zoro sputtered into laughter, turning away from Sanji's disgusted face to laugh outright.

"Oh my God," the girl said, grinning broadly. "Wow. I like him, let's keep him."

Caught between wanting to put Zoro in his place for insulting him, and wanting to properly introducing himself to the woman, Sanji floundered for a moment before turning towards her and bowing deeply.

"If you would have me, I will be yours."

"Holy _shit,_" Zoro said breathlessly, red-faced from laughing as hard as he was. He clutched his sides as he took in several deep breaths to collect himself and chuckled deeply. "Holy shit, Nami, no, one dog is enough. Down, boy."

He swatted the back of Sanji's head and ruffled his hair, messing his already unkempt hair around. Sanji righted himself immediately and shoved at a still laughing Zoro, but was calmed when he felt a hand on his arm and turned to see the young woman looking at him with a smile.

"Calm down, Zoro can be an ass sometimes," she said, and then paused, rethinking what she'd just said. "Well, more like all the time. Still, don't let him goad you into fighting him, he gets off on that kind of thing."

"I do not," Zoro interjected, but Sanji ignored him to focus solely on Nami.

His irritation dissipated in an instant as he took hold of the slight woman's hand to covet it lovingly between both of his own.

"As you wish, Nami, my beautiful swan," he said, speaking in a low, and what he hoped was passionate, tone. She giggled and took her hand away and then shrugged out of the guitar bag while Zoro crouched down to pop the lid off the cooler she'd brought.

Curious as to what she'd brought over, Sanji leaned over to peek in at its contents and saw that it was filled with various packaged meats.

He immediately thought that they might be having a barbeque soon, and was about to offer his culinary services to whatever it was Nami might be hosting, when he realized the two were talking about him.

"So, what's his name?" Sanji heard Nami ask, and was about to provide her with an answer when Zoro spoke instead.

"Uh," he said, frowning and looking confused as he stood up with a handful of meat and walked to the fridge. Opening the freezer, he dumped the meat inside and then turned around to look at Sanji with a blank expression. "I don't know, actually," he admitted, and Sanji could feel his irritation start to rise again.

"Sanji," he replied, gritting his teeth so as to keep himself from biting out a harsh remark in front of Nami. "My name is Sanji. It was in my email address, idiot."

Zoro shrugged and then bent down to scoop up and store the rest of the meat.

"So he's the guy you were emailing, huh?" Nami said, unzipping the gig bag to take out the white bass. She held it for a moment before slinging the strap over her shoulder and playing a few notes. "The Baratie bus-boy?"

Caught up with admiring the way Nami looked holding the long guitar, it took a few moments for her words to sink in, but when they did, they sunk deep, and Sanji immediately boiled over.

"_Bus-boy?!" _Sanji whirled on Zoro, entirely offended that he'd been demeaned in such a way. Zoro paused in taking the guitar from Nami to give him a cool, collected stare before shrugging and turning away again. "I'm a _chef, _actually; the _head chef, _in fact! Bus-boy, how dare you?!"

"How the hell was I supposed to know?" Zoro said around a scowl as he reached for his guitar again, only to have Nami playfully pull it out of reach. "You're the bitchiest person I've ever known, I swear to God. If it's not one thing with you, it's the other."

"You could have asked," Sanji said, simmering down and stuffing his hands into his pants pocket dismally while he watched Zoro make another attempt at taking his guitar back from Nami. He longed for a cigarette, but restrained himself. "When you make assumptions like that, you make an ass out of you _and _me, you know."

Zoro snorted loudly in retort and circled around Nami, who'd hid the bass behind her with a cheeky smile. She turned with him, backing up against the counter to prolong their game of keep away whilst simultaneously being careful enough to not bang the guitar against the low cabinets.

"Ah-ah," she chided, sticking out her tongue and winking when Zoro darted his hand around around her hip. "I saw the bong when I came in; I'll let you have Wado back if you let me smoke with you guys."

"No way," Zoro said immediately, to which Nami pouted. "There's not enough for all three of us; it's just one of Johnny's trial things."

"Oh come on, please? I know you've got more than that," she pleaded, but Zoro shook his head and took a firm stance, crossing his arms across his chest decisively. Nami's playful expression turned sour as she huffed and frowned, kicking at Zoro's shin lightly. "Fine. You owe me $30 for bringing Wado here, then."

"You said ten last night!" Zoro exclaimed, but it was Nami now who stood firmly by what she'd said. He sighed and uncrossed his arms, rubbing at his brow in frustration. "It's not even _my _weed, you thieving witch," he said exasperatedly, giving her a mean look that she returned two-fold.

"Oi, that's no way to talk to a lady," Sanji said, stepping in to come to Nami's defense. She smiled at him, and his heart fluttered, encouraging his act of valour. Zoro looked unimpressed as he sided with Nami, but Sanji wasn't looking to make friends. "You're right; it isn't your weed- it's _mine, _and if the lovely lady would like to smoke with us, then she may."

They stared at each other intensely, each of them daring the other to back down or argue their point further, when Zoro relented with a groan. His shoulders slumped and he let his head fall back, glaring up at the ceiling while Nami stuck her tongue out at him and left his guitar propped against the counter to lead Sanji into the living room.

"I don't get to smoke very often, and Zoro's always really stingy," she explained as she sat down on the couch in front of the bong. Sanji sat beside her so that their legs were touching and gave her a smile, which she reciprocated before turning away to search the table for a lighter. "My sister is pretty straight-edge, so I can't smoke at home, and Zoro's the only guy I know who'll put up with Johnny and Yosaku long enough to buy their weed. They're stupid creeps, but they grow _the best _weed. Hey, you got a light?"

"Sure," he said, sitting up a bit to pull out his lighter. From the direction of the kitchen he heard what sounded like singing, and paused with what he was doing to listen. He glanced back to where they had left Zoro, and saw him walking towards them, not singing, but to Sanji's surprise, playing his guitar.

It was mesmerising the way Zoro exhibited such skill and precision while looking so lackadaisical about it. The notes he pulled from his guitar were low in tone and hard to hear, but even so, Sanji could tell that the man had immense talent when it came to handling the instrument, and found himself staring at the way the punk's fingers maneuvered nimbly up and down the fretboard, effortlessly pulling forth the sounds that Sanji had thought he'd been singing.

"You should see him play when he's plugged in," Nami whispered, leaning in close to Sanji to speak secretly, grinning as she watched him experience Zoro's playing for the first time. "He's really good."

"I see," Sanji replied, still focused on the way Zoro's playing sounded like low singing.

He heard Nami giggle lightly as she leaned away and shook himself free of the stupor he'd found himself in.

"Oh Sanji," Nami said, louder now and with a beautiful smile to accompany her sing-songy voice. "Lighter, please?"

"Oh, my darling, of course!" He apologised and appeared embarrassed as he dug his hand into his pocket, fumbling around briefly before his fingers finally found it. He was about to pull it out when Zoro sat down in the armchair across from them and made a few angry twangs on his guitar that interrupted Sanji's movement. When Sanji looked at him, he shook his head.

"What'd I tell you about that thing? Bad fucking luck, don't pull it back out."

Zoro set his guitar on the stand that sat beside the chair and then turned to the side, repositioning himself so that his legs were slung over the arms of the chair. He lounged back, letting his head loll across the opposite arm rest, and closed his eyes. Nami rolled her eyes at him and then turned to question Sanji.

"Don't tell me it's white," she said, and Sanji nodded. She made a clucking sound with her tongue before standing up and moving close enough to Zoro where she could shove his head. "So where're the matches then, hm?"

He opened one eye to look up at her with a frown, and wordlessly produced the book of matches he'd found earlier. When she went to take them, he grinned and sat up, pulling them just out of her reach.

"Ah-ah," he mimicked, and then tossed the matches over the table to Sanji, who easily caught them. "It's his weed; at least let him take the first hit."

Sanji heard Nami sigh and saw her put her hands on her hips to glare at Zoro before she eventually agreed and came back to sit down beside him. Though he was grateful for the chance to take the first hit, he sat still and held the book of matches in his hands as he stared blankly at the bong in front of him without the slightest indication of how he was meant to use it.

"Hey, asshole, remember what I was saying earlier?" he said, addressing Zoro, who'd picked his bass back up again and was playing it lazily. "I don't smoke; I have no idea how to use this."

"You don't smoke?" Nami asked, looking surprised. Sanji shook his head, and was confused to see that she looked almost concerned. "Oh, Zoro, we can't use the gravity bong then. Go get a pipe."

"I already packed the bowl," Zoro said, sighing as he slapped his thumb against the strings absentmindedly. "He'll be fine."

Nami sighed and frowned, looking at the bong and then Sanji, and then the bong again. He was about to reassure her that he'd be okay as Zoro had said, when she sat up and went to take the guitar from out of Zoro's hands.

"Hey," he protested, trying to stand up fast enough to take his guitar back from her when she shoved him to sit back down.

"You're going to show him how to use it," she said, placing the guitar back in its stand. She turned to Sanji and looked almost sympathetic as she beckoned him to toss the matches back over.

"You're going to get really high using this," she said as he aimed and threw the matches to hit Zoro square in the face. Zoro grunted, and Nami smiled and laughed before she continued speaking. "Like, insanely high. One hit will probably do you in; Zoro and I have a really high tolerance so it won't hit us as hard, but the gravity bong is designed to get people really high, really fast, so, just, be prepared."

"How sweet of you to worry over me!" Sanji exclaimed, but his flattery was lost on her. Her smile faded into that weird expression that appeared almost concerned, but he assured her with a warm smile. "I smoke cigarettes regularly, I'm sure I can handle it; don't let your beautiful visage be wrinkled with worry for me."

She smiled weakly as Zoro sat up with a groan and then came to kneel in front of the table on the floor. He adjusted the bong so it sat closer to him, and rose up on his knees to get ready to explain, looking Sanji in the eye.

"Okay," Zoro began, opening the little book of matches. He pulled one out and lit it, placing the book on the table and then using his free hand to steady the bottle floating in the water. "Light the weed, first of all. Once it's lit, you pull the bottle up. _Slowly._"

Adhering to his own instructions, Zoro held the match to the bowl for a moment before shaking it out. He slowly began to lift the submerged bottle, and Sanji watched it fill with smoke as the stench of lit marijuana began to fill the room.

"Don't pull it too far up because you'll just let all the smoke out," Nami explained, watching Zoro enviously. "The absolute worst thing you can do is pull the bottle all the way out of the water; that's wasted weed _and _wasted money."

Sanji nodded and watched as Zoro sat up a little more and tossed the spent match onto the table. Inwardly, he snickered, wondering if this was what his old bastard of a father had had in mind when he'd told him to get a hobby.

"This next part can be tricky, but just try your best not to let any of the smoke escape," Nami narrated as Zoro began to unscrew the lid of the bottle and sat forward to put his mouth over the opening. After he'd quickly latched on, he began to slowly press the bottle down, and Sanji watched as he inhaled the smoke being forced by gravity to flood into his mouth.

"And that's how you do it!" Cheerfully, Nami gave Sanji a reassuring pat on the back as Zoro pulled off the bottle, holding the smoke in his mouth and quickly screwing the cap back on. "It can be a lot to handle all at once, so if you need to take smaller hits, just try and get the cap back on as quick as you can and try again."

Zoro's cheeks protruded almost comically from the sides of his face before he finally exhaled and blew out the smoke in Sanji's direction.

"Think you can handle that, shit-_chef_?" Zoro said with a grin.

Bristling at the insult, Sanji sat up and strode around to shove Zoro out of his spot.

"Watch me, you shitty bassist," he said, taking Zoro's seat even as the punk laughed and stood up. He heard Nami groan at their exchange but politely ignored it as he grabbed a match and lit it.

He could feel the eyes of both the punks on him as he pressed down on the bottle. He felt nervous, but he reckoned that it was only because he didn't want to look like a fool in front of Nami and have her worry over him, but Zoro had made it look easy, and anything that idiot bastard could do, Sanji was sure he could do, too.

Lighting the weed, he shook the match out and carefully raised the bottle to fill it with smoke. The room was stiflingly quiet, and Sanji felt like a golfer nervously trying to make a winning put in front of a live and televised audience.

"Watch it," he heard Zoro say in warning, and stopped pulling the bottle up. He turned to leer at Zoro, who raised his eyebrows expectantly in return, and turned away again.

Sitting up to get at the proper angle, Sanji hurriedly undid the cap and quickly covered it with his mouth, and then began to press down on the bottle as Zoro had done.

He didn't know what he'd been expecting, but the marijuanas smoke was harsher than tobacco. It burned in his throat and tasted funny on his tongue, but he held back the cough that was brewing until he'd gotten in as much as he could handle and lifted off the bottle and screwed on the cap.

"Bravo!" Nami cheered, and Sanji smiled and coughed out the smoke he'd held in.

"Thank you, my lovely Nami! Your instructions were flawless." He coughed, and Zoro laughed at him for it.

"Ignore him," Nami said with a grin and a roll of her eyes. "Everybody coughs their first time."

"You are- excuse me," he said, and turned to cough again. His eyes watered, and he wiped them before turning back to smile at her. "You are so gracious."

"Hey, asshole, you gonna finish your hit or not?"

Sanji turned to Zoro and attempted to look mean, but coughed instead.

"Yeah," he grumbled, and sat up to finish with what was left in the bottle.

He was already beginning to feel the effects of the weed as he sucked in the last of the smoke, and almost stumbled when he tried to stand. His eyelids grew heavy with the feeling of fatigue, though he didn't actually feel very tired at all.

"You okay?" he heard Nami ask, and nodded as he went to take his seat on the couch.

Nami gave him a look of concern as she stood up to take her turn, but Sanji didn't recognize it as he leaned down to take off his shoes. He pulled his legs up onto the sofa and laid out across it, feeling as though his whole body had fallen asleep, but his brain had forgotten to follow suit.

He heard Nami take her hit, and turned his head to look away from the ceiling to see that Zoro was staring at him. He flipped him the bird and then laid his arm across his stomach.

"So, hey, what's wrong with your car?" Nami asked, still sitting on the floor, and Sanji felt the slightest spark of envy when Zoro sat down beside her.

"The battery," he heard himself say, but his voice sounded as though it was coming from far away, and was not actually his own. "Died."

Nami giggled and elbowed Zoro, turning towards him to whisper, "Oh my god, he's so high," into his ear.

Sanji's body felt both light and heavy all at once. He was aware that, if he wanted to, he could move any part of his body as easily as though it were submerged in water, but felt that if he tried, he wouldn't be able to. He wasn't sure if he appreciated the feeling.

"We could call Franky," he heard Nami say to Zoro, but he'd closed his eyes and didn't see whether or not the punk affirmed her thought. "I bet he could fix his car."

"I don't have a phone, remember?"

"Why not?" Sanji found himself mumbling, and though he didn't see it, both the punks had turned to look and snicker at him.

"Some crusty stole it at the last show I went to," Zoro explained, and Sanji found his consciousness slipping too fast to be able to ask what a crusty was.

"Oh," he said quietly, and then laid still.

The last thing Sanji heard before he fell asleep was the two of them exchanging bong hits, and the soft, low sounds of a bass guitar that he swore was singing.


	6. Oceanographer's Choice

Though he was only asleep for about an hour, when Sanji woke up, he felt as though he'd been asleep for days.

Momentarily out of sorts, he continued to lie on the couch for a moment, attempting to regain a sense of place before he tried to sit up. His thoughts were disorganized and felt thick, as though they'd congealed into a soupy mass and were unable to maneuver through the thin passages inside his brain. Staring up at the ceiling, he attempted to navigate through them with little success.

Overwhelmingly groggy, he grunted and sat up, trying to make sense of the odd sensation circulating inside his head. It was like he had a headache, except his head didn't actually hurt; the absence of the pain still left his mind feeling like it was being compressed and impounded upon with either gauze or fuzz, and no matter how he rubbed at his forehead, it wouldn't clear. The sensation was unpleasant, leading Sanji to decide that if this was how smoking weed felt every time, he probably wouldn't do it again.

He shut his eyes and tried to clear his head, but the fuzzy, soupy feeling persistently remained. Sighing, he opened his eyes and immediately went to grab a cigarette, only to find that his pack and lighter had gone missing.

Confused, he patted down his pants pockets and even went through his coat, but all he found was an absence of his things. Setting his coat aside and aware now of his surroundings, he glanced around and saw that both Zoro and Nami had disappeared. The bong was still on the table, but when he turned in his seat to look into the kitchen, he saw that neither one of them was present in the immediate vicinity.

Rubbing his head to try and clear it once more, Sanji stood up, noticing that the bass was in its stand and Nami's boots were lined against the far wall, but Zoro's were gone.

"Hey," he mumbled, shuffling in his socks towards the short hall he'd seen Zoro go down earlier. He'd forgotten he'd taken his shoes off prior to falling asleep, and was almost taken by surprise at the way he slid across the floor. He caught himself and stopped at the halls entrance and blearily looked down its depths, wondering if his host and guest had retired into the back. "Anyone home?"

He waited by the entrance for a moment before turning away when he got no response. Unwilling to snoop into Zoro's private rooms, Sanji wandered into the kitchen to get himself a glass of water, hoping to rid himself of the cotton-mouth he'd woken up with. Smacking his lips lazily, he began to search through the cabinets to find where Zoro kept his cups, and found them stored on a high shelf.

The height was no challenge to Sanji, who helped himself to a plain green glass. When he turned around to access the tap, he was surprised to see the plate of food he'd brought sitting empty on the counter amidst other dirty dishes beside the sink.

Excited, he wondered what Zoro had thought of his cooking and brightened up considerably, thinking about how he wished he'd been awake to see him eat it.

Looking around the empty apartment again, he wondered where they might've gone. He really wanted to ask the punk's opinion of his cooking, but with the both of them gone, he was left only to speculate. He looked back down at the plate, and felt his old work habits begin to pester him. Zoro had a multitude of dirty dishes scattered around the sink, and Sanji knew that, if this were the Baratie's kitchen, this sort of thing would have gotten a chef fired instantly. A dirty workstation was unprofessional, after all.

Shrugging to himself, he glanced around for a sponge and some dish soap, figuring he'd pass the time constructively until the punks decided to show themselves.

He crouched down and opened the cabinet under the sink and saw an almost entirely unused bottle of Joy and a dried out old sponge sitting amongst various discarded grocery bags. Grabbing hold of them, he shut the cabinet and stood up, setting them aside on the countertop as he rolled up his sleeves and turned on the water.

As he waited for it to warm, he thought he heard Nami giggling, but couldn't pinpoint where he'd heard it from. He looked around what he could see of the apartment, but it was as devoid of other persons as it was when he'd last checked. Wondering again where they could have gone, and why they'd bothered to leave him alone, he set about washing Zoro's dishes.

He scrubbed the dishes as thoroughly as he would have if he were on the job. Each plate and bowl and piece of silverware that went under the water came out cleaner than Sanji thought they had probably ever been under Zoro's ownership. Popping open the dishwasher, he loaded the dishes he'd cleaned by hand into the racks one by one as he worked until the counter was cleanly rid of the mess. Satisfied with his job well down, he shut the dishwasher and turned off the tap, shaking his hands to dry them out before running them down the length of his pants.

At a loss as to what he should do now, he checked his phone to see if he had any new messages from Zeff, when he heard the sound of a door being opened from down the distant hallway. He heard Nami laugh as the door closed, and hurriedly put his phone away as she came out of the hallway.

"Sanji! I was just coming to see if you were up yet, come here, come on!" she said happily, and took him by the hand.

She began to lead him back down the way she'd come before, walking them past a closed door and then turned into what was apparently Zoro's bedroom. Sanji wasn't at all surprised to see how messy it was, but noticed that it was host to several other guitars besides the white one he'd known of, and a few amplifiers.

The punk's bedroom walls were covered with numerous other band posters, covering so much of the wall that hardly any of the original space could be seen between the cracks left between the posters. In addition, Zoro had several large banners and tapestries advertising anarchy and a general dislike of authority hanging around and down from the ceiling, coming down so low that they almost brushed the top of his head. Sanji paused to admire them all, scanning over each of them briefly before noticing the one banner that seemed to take priority over them all.

It was a very, very large tapestry of a jolly-roger wearing a straw hat that Zoro had hung above the headboard of his unmade bed. It was much larger than any of the others he had around, and almost looked hand-printed.

He wondered about its meaning as he stared at its broad, grinning face, just as he wondered why Nami had lead him into Zoro's bedroom. He was about to ask her about her motives when she let go of his hand and opened a door that was tucked along the left-hand side of the far wall. Sunlight spilled in from the opening, and Nami stepped through and gestured for Sanji to follow her.

Confused, he walked to join her and saw that Zoro was one of the few tenants who was gifted with an apartment that had an oddly placed balcony. He stepped out into the sun and looked down over the railing at what she was cheerfully gesturing at, and saw Zoro sitting in the driver's seat of his car with a blue-haired bodybuilder fiddling with his engine under the hood.

"Hey! Look who's up!" Nami called down to them, and they both turned to look up at him, making Sanji feel suddenly embarrassed.

The blue-haired man waved at him enthusiastically, but Zoro just looked bored. He'd left the driver's side door open with the window rolled down, and sat at an angle so that his feet were propped up using the opening. He twitched one of his booted feet at him in greeting before closing his eyes.

"How'd they get in my car?" Sanji asked when they'd looked away, and Nami gave him a catty grin and a wink.

"I borrowed your keys from you while you were sleeping," she explained, dropping to sit in one of the two lawn chairs that were set up on the deck. "That guy down there is Franky, he owns the store Zoro and I work at, but likes to work on cars in his free time. We called and asked him to come over."

"So what's he doing to mine?"

"Fixing it, hopefully."

Sanji peeked over the railing again to get a better look at whatever it was Franky was doing, but from four floors up, couldn't see much of what he was working on. When he looked back at Nami, he saw that, in addition to having swiped his keys earlier, she'd also nabbed his cigarettes and lighter. She popped one out of the pack and placed it in her mouth before lighting it, giving Sanji another wink as she passed his things back to him.

"Sorry," she said, inhaling and exhaling slowly. "It's a bad habit."

Sanji immediately forgave her.

"It's alright, my darling; I could never be angry with you."

She giggled cutely, and he felt his heart flutter. Following her example, he sat down in the other fold-out chair that was set up and took a cigarette out to smoke with her.

The outside air was refreshing and cool, and Sanji thought that it felt nice to be sitting in the sun with a girl as beautiful as Nami. They sat smoking in silence, listening to the slight murmurings of Zoro and Franky below as they worked on his car. Occasionally, one of them would try the engine, but each time they tried, they were met with the same failed results Sanji had gotten Saturday morning. The car would sound hopeful for a brief moment, and then gag and roll over. Sanji couldn't say he was surprised by this, but hoped that, by some miracle, Franky would be able to solve his car troubles before he actually needed to go somewhere.

"So," Nami said, breaking the silence as she leaned down to stub out her cigarette on the balcony flooring. "How'd you like getting high with us?"

Sanji sat contemplating how best to answer her question without offending her.

"I don't think it's for me," he said slowly, taking a long drag off his cigarette. When he exhaled, he saw her nod along to what he'd said.

"I really wish we hadn't used the gravity bong," Nami said, and then sighed. "It's really overwhelming for newbies, so I'm sorry about that."

"Don't be! It's not your fault, I've had a good time with you regardless."

She smiled at him, giving him a curious look of approval when she cocked her head and leaned forward to stare into his eye. Sanji sat still as she looked.

"Wow, your eyes are totally shot," she said, standing upright with her hands on her hips.

"Are they?"

"Yeah, come on, we got some stuff for that."

Sanji stubbed out his cigarette and pocketed the butt before standing up and following after Nami, who opened the balcony door and stepped back inside.

He shut the door behind him as he followed her back into Zoro's disorganized bedroom, and joined her in the hall as she stood in front of the closed door they'd passed earlier. She seemed to hesitate with her hand on the handle, and bit her lip as she turned around to face Sanji.

"Have you met Chopper?" she asked slowly.

Frowning slightly, Sanji answered, saying, "Er, kind of. I saw him with Zoro this morning."

"How was he?"

"He tried to eat me." Nami paused and sighed, and then turned back around.

"Chopper's a baby," she said, finally opening the door. "He only acts mean because he's afraid."

She stepped inside, and Sanji noticed that the room already had the lights turned on. He followed after her, wondering why she'd made mention of the dog when they were in the bathroom, when he saw him.

Chopper and Sanji's eyes met at the same time, and the dog immediately rose up from his position of rest inside his crate to growl lowly in his direction. Sanji froze, but Nami looked cross and stood between them.

"Chopper, _no_," she said firmly, and to Sanji's surprise, the dog's demeanor changed completely.

He whined pitifully, still looking angrily in Sanji's direction, but sat down at Nami's direction. His hackles were still ruffled and raised, but he remained silent when Nami gestured for Sanji to come closer.

"I know he looks really big and mean, but he's honestly a huge baby when you get to know him," Nami explained apologetically as they stood in front of the sink counter.

"I believe you," Sanji said, but wasn't sure he meant it.

She smiled at him and then began to go through the drawers that lined the front of the counter. Sanji stared at himself in the large mirror and leaned forward to inspect his eyes. He ignored the stickers that Zoro had haphazardly slapped across the surface, and saw that, true to Nami's words, his eyes were incredibly bloodshot. He frowned and leaned back, looking around the small bathroom as Nami kept looking for what he assumed were eyedrops.

Usopp must have been a very prolific artist, for in addition to the other prints scattered around the apartment, Zoro had even hung a few in the bathroom. Sanji really admired his use of line and minimal colouring, and was so caught up in appreciating the prints that he hadn't heard Nami's victorious 'Ah-ha!' of discovery until after she'd tapped him on the shoulder.

"Oh! Thank you Nami, you are incredible!"

"Two drops in each eye should clear them up," she said, smirking as she gave him the small bottle of drops.

She watched him unscrew the cap as she hoisted herself up to sit on the sink's counter, and glanced over to the art print she'd seen him staring at.

As he began to apply the drops to his eyes, she asked, "So, you like Usopp's work?"

"Yeah," Sanji replied, distracted. "He's very talented."

Nami nodded.

"He's having an art show this Wednesday; you should get Zoro to take you."

"And you, my darling?" he asked, blinking his eyes rapidly against the droplets as he applied them. "Will you be there as well?"

"I got banned from going," she said with a sad sigh and a shake of her head. "I _borrowed _a piece of art and they totally over-reacted. But I didn't like going anyway, it's super skeevy."

"Skeevy? How?"

Sanji set the eyedrops on the counter when he was done with them and turned his head to focus on Nami, who appeared thoughtful.

"Well, no one can figure out if they're actually legal or not," she explained. "The people who organize the shows, Baroque Works, are some kind of super underground art movement. Usopp is actually scared shitless to exhibit with them, so he gets Zoro to go with him and pose as his bodyguard."

"Huh," Sanji said, frowning. Nami hopped off the counter and crouched down to stick her hand through the bars of Chopper's crate to pet him.

"Yeah, skeevy, like I said; but it's also pretty fun. You have to dress up really fancy, but Usopp's so afraid of them, he goes dressed up as 'Sogeking' so they can't figure out who he really is. It's hilarious; he's got this super extravagant costume he wears around with this ridiculous mask, and Zoro goes dressed up like Sid Vicious in My Way. He's such a punk; they can't get him to dress any better than that, but I bet Usopp'd really like it if you went along with Zoro as his second body-guard."

"I'll certainly think about it, my darling," Sanji said, to which Nami smiled and stood up, withdrawing her hand from Chopper's crate.

"Let's go check on the boys," she said, and Sanji nodded as they both left the bathroom, shutting the door behind them as they navigated back through Zoro's bedroom and onto the balcony.

Peering over the ledge, they saw neither Franky nor Zoro; the hood of Sanji's car was shut and the driver's side door was closed, and neither one of them was within eyesight. Frowning, Sanji hoped they'd had the grace to lock the doors when Nami turned and went back inside as the sound of the front door being opened reached them.

After she'd left, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the spent cigarette butt. He flicked it over the edge of the railing before following after her, making sure to shut the door behind him. He could hear Nami and Zoro talking, and as he came out of the hall, saw them standing by the front door.

"So, did he fix it?" Sanji asked, to which Zoro looked at him and shook his head.

"Nah, he said you drained the battery beyond saving, so he went out to get a new one."

"Oh."

Zoro continued to look at him contemplatively before Nami drew his attention away.

"Sanji wants to go with you to see Usopp's show Wednesday," she said, shooting Sanji a secretive wink as Zoro frowned and shook his head. "I'll waive Wado's fee if you do," she sang lightly, and Zoro groaned.

"You don't have to-" Sanji began to interject, but it seemed as though Nami had already won.

"Fine," Zoro said around a sigh, moving past them both to take his boots off by the wall. He turned to give them both a mean look before he walked into the kitchen, leaving Nami to shrug at Sanji.

"I have to be going soon," she said. "I really didn't plan on staying so long, Nojiko's really gonna chew me out when I get back. I was only supposed to drop Chopper's food off, then head back to help her with the oranges."

She winced, already imagining the lecture she was sure to get. Sanji was about to ask her who Nojiko was, when Zoro came out of the kitchen holding the undrunk glass of water and a look of confusion on his face.

"Did one of you do my dishes?" he asked, looking incredulously at the two of them.

"No," Nami answered, moving towards where her boots were to put them on. "I wouldn't touch them with your own hands, let alone my own."

Zoro leered at her briefly before he turned his gaze to Sanji, who felt embarrassed again as he tried to shrug it off as something casual.

"Work habit," he said in response, stuffing his hands into his pockets as though it'd help him avoid scrutiny. "I can't stand to see a dirty kitchen."

Zoro still looked surprised, but ended up with an expression of respect as he took a sip of water.

"So you're leaving?" he asked Nami, turning away from Sanji to watch her as she walked past him into the kitchen to collect her cooler.

"Yeah, Nojiko's going to be pissed," she said as she hefted it in her arms and walked back to stand in front of Sanji. "It was nice meeting you; I'll see you around!"

Sanji beamed at her.

"Likewise, it was a marvelous, life-changing event for me to have met you here today! I will keep you in my thoughts, always!"

He could hear Zoro groan at his comment and turned to glare at him before opening the door for Nami. She stepped through it, and gave him one last smile before a look of remembrance dawned on her face.

"Don't forget you have hockey practice tonight," she said, leaning back inside to yell and give Zoro a stern look. "If you forget again you're gonna get cut from the team."

"Yeah, yeah, I won't forget," Zoro grumbled, to which Nami huffed and then did finally depart.

Sanji blew a kiss after her and shut the door. He stared at it blankly for a moment before realizing that he was alone now with Zoro, who he could feel staring at him from the kitchen.

"I think I should be going too," he said, turning around to see Zoro shrug.

"If you don't want to wait on Franky, that's fine by me."

"Shit," Sanji said, having forgotten about him.

"I don't care if you wait around, either, though." Sanji heard him open his fridge, and the sound of bottles clanking peaked his interest. He ventured into the kitchen to find Zoro holding two bottles of beer, and held one out to Sanji, who took it.

"For washing my dishes," Zoro said with a shrug. He pulled a magnetic bottle opener off the front of the refrigerator and opened his own bottle before then passed it on to Sanji.

Relaxing back against the countertop, Sanji popped the top off his beer. He took a starting sip as his elbow slid back and rustled the discarded saran wrap he'd brought his food with. He sat up, remembering that he'd wanted to ask Zoro's opinion on his cooking.

"How'd you like it?" he asked. "The food I brought, I mean," he clarified when Zoro looked blank.

Zoro paused and glanced away, looking to Sanji as though he were thinking up a grand way to describe the cooking he'd eaten. Of course, anything Zoro said, Sanji knew to be true; his cooking was his pride, and he knew it's quality was beyond superior. So it came as a shock to him when Zoro shrugged again, and simply said, "It was okay."

"'_Okay'?_" Sanji repeated, baffled. Zoro nodded and took another drink. "_Just _'okay'?!"

"Yeah," Zoro said slowly, recognizing a fight slowly brewing in the depths of Sanji's one visible eye. "I liked it; it was okay."

Sanji's grasp over the bottle of beer tightened as he tried to keep himself calm.

"My cooking is not just _'okay'_, okay? It's mind-blowingly _delicious_; it's melt-in-your-mouth _wonderful; _it's panty-dropping _amazing! _What it's _not, _is just 'okay'!" he exclaimed, bristling as he defended his practice.

To his immense hatred, Zoro shrugged, only saying "Okay", in response.

They stood staring at one another angrily in the middle of the kitchen, each of them waiting for the other to make a move. Sanji silently assessed their surroundings, noting that it wasn't optimal for any sort of a fight that might break out between them. Zoro's stance appeared calm, but Sanji could sense the tension building in him as they continued their stand-off.

"You really piss me off," Sanji said, relenting his anger in a long, drawn-out sigh. He drank deeply from his beer as Zoro snorted and rolled his eyes, relaxing.

"I'm not in the business of making friends," he retorted, even as they both moved out of the kitchen and into the living room.

"Clearly," Sanji said as Zoro turned on the television.

Their disagreement with one another was put on pause as they each sat down on the couch, mindlessly passing time as they waited for Franky to return with a new battery for Sanji's car.


End file.
